


first things first imma say all the words inside my head

by Zoadgo



Series: Kinktober 2018 [7]
Category: Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Clothed Sex, F/M, Fingering, Fluffy Smut, Light Dirty Talk, Mentions of past abuse, Praise Kink, Technically semi-public sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 16:22:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16222835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoadgo/pseuds/Zoadgo
Summary: “Say, I've been wonderin’” Harley quirks as Floyd turns back to face her, leaning on the counter of their little kitchenette. She rolls over and props her chin up on the side of the couch, looking at Floyd with mild curiosity.“Yeah? What’ve you been wondering this time, sweetheart?” It could be anything. Sometimes she asks him about his past, or his daughter, and other times it’s questions like ‘is water wet’ and ‘do fish fall in love’. He can’t ever be quite sure what he’s going to get with her, but in these quiet moments, it’s more endearing than anything. On the battlefield is a different story, but hey, can’t win them all.“How come you never call me stupid?”





	first things first imma say all the words inside my head

**Author's Note:**

> Kinktober day seven called for **Praise kink** and I could see no better couple than Quinnshot!

It’s funny how quickly they get used to their routines, how bitterly they’d fought at first, but now run smooth as anyone could hope under the banner of ‘Suicide Squad’. Maybe it could be chalked up to bonding, or resignation, or being given a chance to do what they’re all oh so very good at. But if you ask Floyd, it’s the treats that did it. Little rewards, gifted down by the hand of their very own God, that stack up to make them feel almost human.

Rewards such as common rooms, attached to the Squad’s cells so that they can socialize. Floyd swung that one, said it would be good for morale and let them work on training as a unit. He can’t say they’ve done much in the way of training, but honestly, when you’re as good as they all are at being bad, training doesn’t matter. As for the morale aspect, well… He does get a kick out of watching Killer Croc throw Captain Boomerang into the wall when the aussie is being even more of a prick than normal.

And, of course, there’s his real reason for pushing to get somewhere all the inmates could hang out. She shoots him a smile as Floyd walks into the room in the early morning, already sprawled out on the couch that’s not nearly as nice as what he knows Waller could have got. Harley’s grin is a little disconnected, as always, but her eyes are bright today, no ghosts hiding in them. It seems like her mind strays less and less these days, and Floyd feels all warm and fuzzy inside because of it, like a damn schoolboy with a crush.

Well, he could do worse for himself than the girl who took out half an army with a baseball bat and her own stilettos. A hell of a lot worse.

Floyd detours by the couch on his way to the coffee machine, gently cupping her cheek for a second as a way of saying hi. She closes her eyes and nuzzles into his touch, sweet as can be, and not for the first time he wants to kill the Joker. Anyone who could see a precious thing like this and want to hurt it has got to die. In most cases Harley would be doing the killing all on her own, he knows damn well she can handle herself, but the things she’d let the Joker do to her turn Floyd’s stomach, and he’s sure he doesn’t even know the half of it.

Floyd goes and claims a chipped mug and some surprisingly good coffee, letting go of the fleeting urge. The past is past, and he’s actually got some kind of a future. Sure, he’s behind bars, but they’ve got a lot of nice shit behind these bars, and he gets to see his daughter, and he even gets to kill people on good days. So, not so bad to forget how they all got there.

“Say, I've been wonderin’” Harley quirks as Floyd turns back to face her, leaning on the counter of their little kitchenette. She rolls over and props her chin up on the side of the couch, looking at Floyd with mild curiosity.

“Yeah? What’ve you been wondering this time, sweetheart?” It could be anything. Sometimes she asks him about his past, or his daughter, and other times it’s questions like ‘is water wet’ and ‘do fish fall in love’. He can’t ever be quite sure what he’s going to get with her, but in these quiet moments, it’s more endearing than anything. On the battlefield is a different story, but hey, can’t win them all.

“How come you never call me stupid?” Harely’s question throws Floyd for a loop.

“What?” Floyd asks, brow creasing as he attempts to figure out even the most basic concept of where that question came from. It’s hard with her, to follow a line of thought, but he still tries sometimes.

“How come it is you never call me stupid, or hit me, or nothin’? I know I aggravate ya sometimes, but you ain’t never done nothin’ to me.” Harley explains, innocently, and Floyd’s blood runs cold the same way it does when he’s staring down a scope. He takes a large swig of coffee before carefully setting the mug aside, mind full of thoughts of beating a certain green haired shitbag until the only colour left of him is red.

Floyd takes a deep breath and walks back over to Harley, crouching in front of the couch and simply holding her gaze. She’s good at reading people, if he lets her she’ll be able to see that he’s telling the truth. He wants to tell her how the Joker is an asshole, and anything he said should probably be ignored, but Floyd knows better by now. Things might have changed and she might not like the Joker anymore, but a part of her will always love him, and attacking that monster is a sure way to get her to shut down.

“I don’t call you stupid ‘cause you’re not stupid,” Floyd says, instead of all the threats he wants to make against the Joker. He sets that aside, because he refuses to let that prick take up more of his attention than Harley. “You’re sort of scary smart, actually.”

Harley looks into his eyes for a moment, genuine and grounded, searching for the truth in what he’s saying. And then, as she always does, she smiles and defuses the situation with overblown charm. She even goes so far as to roll over on her back, still keeping Floyd’s gaze, simply looking at him upside down now.

“Aw, aren’t you just the sweetest?” She croons, and Floyd shakes his head with a small smile. 

“Nah, see, you do that and that means you don’t believe me,” He points out. Floyd stands, putting a hand on the armrest of the couch on either side of Harley’s head. She pouts, looking up at him, and Floyd repeats himself, “You’re smart, Harley. And gorgeous, and badass, and weirdly strong with that bat of yours. And I’ve never hit you ‘cause you never done anything to deserve being hit.”

Harley thinks on his words for a second, dramatic pout turning into a genuine frown of concentration. “What about New Mexico?”

Floyd distinctly remembers the mission she references, and the ensuing headache because of her actions, but he doesn’t even hesitate before shaking his head. “Nah, that’s no reason to hit you. In my opinion, if you don’t swing at me first, I don’t see any reason to do so. No matter what you do.”

“You really don’t think I’m annoying?” She persists, voice almost frighteningly grounded and genuine, and Floyd knows this is his chance to get through to her. 

“Well, sometimes. But more than that, I think you’re incredible. Annoying goes away, but you… You’re something else.” He speaks with the utmost honesty, and this time he gets the feeling Harley is actually listening. It’s in the little incline of her head, the way she looks just past him.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” Harley’s question is soft, not her standard demand for attention, and Floyd doesn’t hesitate for a second before nodding.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course you’re pretty, Harley. You’re so damn pretty I can’t believe I get to do this.” Floyd proves how pretty he finds her by leaning down and capturing her lips with his own. 

Okay, so upside down is an awkward angle, but he makes the best of it, and Harley kisses him back, her hand reaching up to cling to the back of his neck. Floyd smiles against her lips and trails his kisses down, gentle brushes of his lips over her chin, her jawline, onto the delicate skin on the side of her neck. She giggles as he touches on a ticklish spot, so he blows on the skin to tease her more until she gently smacks the back of his head with another laugh.

Floyd relents with a chuckle of his own, breaking away from her only in order to come sit on the couch, picking her legs up and tucking himself underneath them. She crawls halfway onto his lap, and Floyd pulls her to him, back pressed tight against his chest. So strong, yet also so delicate when she’s around him; he’d do awful things to keep her safe. Floyd sighs and drops his mouth to rest on the back her shoulder with another soft kiss.

“You’re perfect, Harley. I’ll tell you that every day, hell, every minute if you need me to. Absolutely perfect.” His lips brush against her skin as he speaks, and Harley wriggles slightly on his lap. If she keeps that up, Waller’s going to tell them off again. Some nonsense about scarring her security techs for life, but hey, it's not his fault she refuses to give them anywhere without cameras.

“You’re silly.” Harley waves off his praise, but Floyd isn’t one to be deterred. He kisses her spine, shaking his head.

“Nah, I’m dead serious, girl. You’re so good.” Harley snorts at that, and Floyd revises his phrasing, “Okay, you’re not like good good, but you’re good to me. Yeah?”

Harley hums, thinking on that, and Floyd lets her. He’s more than happy to simply hold her, feel the heat of her on him. It never fails to amaze him that he gets to be like this with anyone, let alone her. Even his daughter’s mom, it had never been like this. So damn happy, and gentle. Not that Harley’s always gentle with him, but well, there’s a time and a place for everything.

“I guess I am,” Harley admits, after much deliberation, and Floyd smiles again. 

He relaxes his hug on her, letting his hands wander to smooth over her abdomen. There’s no shirt to bar his exploration; as always, she’s torn the prison garb off just below her breasts. He’d asked her about it once, why she likes putting so much skin on display, and she’d simply shrugged with a too-bright smile, asking him if he had a problem with it, which he definitely does not. If Floyd had to guess, he’d say it’s her form of kevlar; it’s not exactly as if she’s going to run around in full battle armour, and this might give her an edge in the department of distraction.

Or maybe she just likes how she looks, which Floyd would have to agree with. She’s one of the most beautiful women he’s had the pleasure to look at.

“Damn, you’re so gorgeous, Harley,” Floyd mutters against her skin, dragging his thumbs over her ribs, and she shivers in his grasp, her hands going to his forearms. “Do you want me to stop?”

Floyd is always sure to ask, because he’s never certain if she’ll speak up if he doesn’t give her the space to. Better safe than sorry, anyway. Floyd Lawton may be a murderer, but he’s a damn gentleman. 

Harley shakes her head emphatically, her hair brushing over Floyd’s face, “Nope, you don’t hafta stop.”

“You sure?” Floyd asks, his hands traveling further up her ribs as Harley nods just as vigorously. “You want me to keep telling you how pretty, and perfect you are? And what about how your skin feels so damn good under my hands?”

Harley actually whimpers at that, and while Floyd’s never exactly been quiet in his praise of her, he’s never been quite this vocal. At her shaky nod, he mentally kicks himself for it, because she’s already so much more undone simply by his words and gentle touch than she usually is by the very best of his dirty talk. Floyd resolves to tell her how good she is a whole hell of a lot more. 

“‘Cause you feel incredible, dollface,” Floyd speaks the praise into her skin, running his hands up and under her cutoff shirt.

He’s delighted to find she’s not wearing a bra; out in the field, she always does, but here in the compound it’s fifty fifty. Most of the time that he realizes she’s not wearing one, it ends in them having sex. He’s wondered a time or two if she does it as some invitation to him, which is an incredibly enticing thought. That she should be displaying her desire for him to the world in some small way, it’s intoxicating.

Floyd caresses her breasts, catching her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. He pinches at them lightly, rolling them and drawing all manner of breathy little noises from Harley. She digs her fingers into the muscles of his forearms; not pushing him away, simply holding onto him.

“You even sound good, Harley. Listen,” Floyd flicks a thumb across a hardened nipple, and Harley gasps lightly. He smiles against her shoulder, “Sweetest sound in the damn world, right there.”

“Deadshot,” Harley whimpers his call name, which is the only name she uses for him except on very, very rare occasion. Floyd doesn’t mind; it’s not how he thinks of himself unless he’s wearing his mask and blowing brains out, but he knows to Harley there’s not always such a distinction between their actions and who they are. It’s not like he’s ashamed of the name or anything, so he hums in response.

“Yeah, girl?” He prompts her, never stopping in his gentle torment of her breasts. She shudders against him, so unlike the hellcat she normally is in bed. Don’t get him wrong, Floyd loves that side of her, but this side definitely holds a special appeal as well.

“I want-” Harley starts, her words dying as Floyd kisses the hollow behind her ear.

“You got it, baby, whatever you want, just say the word,” Floyd promises. He trails one of his hands down from her chest, toying with the elastic waistband of her prison issue pants. He wonders if she’s wearing panties beneath them, and sincerely doubts that she is.

“T-tell me I’m good again?” Harley asks, breathless. Floyd kisses her neck once more, dropping his other hand to join the finger, touch skirting just below the thin fabric.

“You’re so good, Harley. You’re perfect.” The words are no lie; Floyd could die in this moment and be perfectly at peace in his end. Harley's skin is so soft under his calloused hands, and she’s so delightfully receptive. She arches into his touch, urging his hands lower with insistent pressing on his wrists.

“Gonna give you what you want, gorgeous.” 

Floyd makes good on his vow in a heartbeat, sliding one of his hands into her pants and finding his suspicions confirmed. No panties, just intense heat and a wetness that makes him salivate and his cock harden. He ignores his own response, however. This is all about her, he decides, all he wants to do is show her in every way possible how perfect she is.

“Damn, you feel incredible,” Floyd mutters as he drags a finger through her folds, passage slick. Harley mewls at the action, so he repeats it. “So good for me like this, yeah? Letting me touch you, so perfect for me.”

“Dead- I-” Harley stammers the start to a few words as Floyd continues to leisurely explore the hot slickness of her. A second finger joins the first, and he ghosts the pair of them past her clit, just enough of a touch to tease her. It’s amazing actually, that he’s robbed her of the ability to form whole sentences. She never seems this shaken during sex, so Floyd kisses her shoulder blade, his free arm wrapping around her midriff to hold her securely. He hopes she feels safe, that she can feel that way with him.

“God, you’re so wet for me,” Floyd mutters, dipping his middle finger into her. Her inner muscles clench around him at the intrusion, hot and tight. Harley rocks into his hand, urging his digit deeper, and he slips his other finger in beside the first. “That feel good, dollface?”

Harley nods, whimpering, apparently still unable to properly articulate words. It’s unbelievably sexy, the way she presses her back against his in order to grind into his hand more. Floyd thrusts his fingers in and out slowly, curling them inside her to draw out those sugar sweet noises of hers.

“So perfect.” Floyd didn’t even intend to say it that time, the words falling from his lips like a divine intonation. It’s the truth, his most sincere truth in this moment, so he repeats it again as Harley shivers, her fingers bruising his wrist. He’d happily take a million bruises for her, and as tight as her grip is, it doesn’t even necessarily feel bad. It belies her desperate need, which only serves to make Floyd feel a glowing accomplishment.

He moves his hand with more definite purpose, curling the heel of his hand down that it might provide some stimulation to Harley’s clit. She releases the arm around her middle, hand flying to her mouth to smother a cry. Much as Floyd would love to hear her, he appreciates the thought; they don’t need to be making more noise than they already are, Captain Boomerang promised to kick their asses into next week if they woke him up with sex noises one more time.

Harley drives her hips into his hand, rolling them in counterpoint to his movements. Floyd’s wrist begins to cramp lightly, but not even Amanda Waller herself strolling through the doors would stop him at this point, Harley’s most intimate muscles clenching around him, a definite indicator of her oncoming climax. No, if anyone wanted to stop him right now, they’d have to tase him. 

“You gonna be good for me, huh?” Floyd asks, and Harley nods, breathing shallow and frantic as she chases her end. “Come on, come for me, that’s a good girl.”

Floyd murmurs more such words into her feverish skin as Harley makes a strangled noise, bucking against his hand. He thrusts as fast as he can, driving pleasure into her, telling her the whole time just how amazing and beautiful she is. She seems to preen under the praise, and then she comes undone in a heartbeat, clenching hard around his fingers, trembling with a moan she doesn’t manage to smother at all.

Well, let Boomerang come after him, Floyd would take a million beatings just to see the perfect arch on Harley’s back as she climaxes, to know the feeling of her muscles fluttering around his fingers as he coaxes her through it. He has no regrets whatsoever, lavishing her shoulder and neck with light kisses as Harley slumps, breathing hard. He pulls his fingers out of her, and Harley whines indignantly at their loss.

Floyd adjusts her clothing back into place and contents himself with holding her to his chest, basking in the afterglow of her orgasm. He resolute ignores the aching in his own pants; he’ll survive one case of blue balls, and if the others weren’t awake before, they definitely are now. 

Harley pulls the hand that had just been buried inside of her to her mouth and sets to licking the digits clean. That draws a heavy groan from Floyd, and weakens his resolve to not scar the others too much. As she sucks the fingers into her mouth, Floyd decides that for his next reward, he’s going to ask for a night alone with Harley. Somewhere with a lock on the door. Harley hums happily around his fingers, cleansing him of her own taste.

A big, heavy lock. Maybe multiple locks.

“You’re incredible,” Floyd whispers once more, emotion swelling in his chest. Harley releases his fingers with a lewd pop and cranes her neck to look at him.

“You’re pretty great yourself,” she chirps, dropping a kiss that tastes like an echo of her arousal to his lips.

It’s then, just as Floyd is about to say ‘fuck it’ and give into his urges, he hears Killer Croc’s characteristic growl from the corridor. He knows Croc has better hearing than any of them, so chances are he makes the noise to warn them he’s coming, knowing exactly what they were up to moments ago. And what they would be getting up to, without an interruption such as himself.

A room with locks, Floyd reminds himself, sighing and shifting Harley into a position more suitable for snuggling and less boner-inducing. Locks and no cameras, he holds the idea in his mind as Harley snuggles into his embrace and Croc strolls into the room with his usual swagger, headed straight for the coffee.

Not a bad start to the day, Floyd chuckles to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot thank my beta Etra enough for editing these all, she's incredible especially given I wrote like five stories in two days to try and prep for this month. Please keep her in your prayers, given what trash I send her lol
> 
> [tumblr](http://jonnmurphy.tumblr.com)


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